December 2018 #MicroStory Collection

It’s January, so I went through my social media feeds and grabbed all of the MicroStories I’d tweeted during the month of December.

As a reminder, these represent story-essences composed using no more than 269 characters (so I could tweet them with the hashtag #MicroStory.)

Usually, I only tweet Science Fiction and Fantasy #MicroStories. December was pretty much no exception.

For really great #MicroStory action, please follow @MicroSFF, the Twitter account that inspired me to participate in this minimalist writing exercise. That feed puts out great science fiction and fantasy MicroStories all the time.

(I want to make it clear that @MicroSFF is *not* a Twitter account of mine. Their flash-fiction tweets are excellent. Mine are okay.)

I concluded that my navigator and my helmsman had had different frames of reference on how far a light-year was.
It was pointless to reprimand them for the lack of standardization.
Them being dead.
#MicroStory

The old king had outlawed commoners from possessing swords, but was distrustful of the low number of weapons being turned in.
The nobility, afraid they’d be forced to hunt non-existent blades, quietly turned in swords from their households.
But the old king was right.
#MicroStory

The old master’s knee had been sore for a week, but he assumed it would get better with rest. It didn’t.
Ever optimistic, he was sure that the Just Peace would last forever, and he wouldn’t have to learn to fight while seated on a stool.
He was wrong on both counts.
#MicroStory

Wizard wands were more effective if made of costly woods of course, or crafted by arcane artisans.
Sometimes, personal circumstances could contribute to a wand’s potency.
Mine was a wooden stake, previously wielded by a vampire hunter who had misunderstood my nature.
#MicroStory

“Witch-Hunter-Hunters?” He shook his head. “Just be honest and call yourselves witches.”
“Well, that would be dishonest,” said the woman with the blunderbus. “We’d oppose witches, if they existed. In your long career of burnings and hangings, you’ve never found a witch.”
#MicroStory

“So help me Satan,” the President-Elect concluded, becoming President.
I was watching the inauguration with my uncle on his old tube TV.
“Well, at least he’s not an atheist,” Uncle Cletus said.
#MicroStory

Hrigga didn’t ride a broomstick like her sisters.
She rode a shovel.
Different messes needed different tools for cleaning, she figured.
#MicroStory

After the usurper’s execution, the king’s counselors reluctantly brought up their concerns.
“A man should be free to dream what dreams come in his sleep,” they said.
“Dreaming of being a king is treason,” the king insisted. “We must stop these dreams. Tell me how.”
#MicroStory

The witch’s birthday came and went with none of her sisters stopping by to offer their regards. Which suited the crone just fine.
She needed bitter tears for her potions, and so she filled up a bottle for her supply.
#MicroStory

“The wizard’s horde will be heading to the north crossing, so station some knights there and that will give our goblins a reason not to cross.”
“Why don’t you just refuse his orders?”
The troll shrugged in response to the question.
“He’s our wizard. We’re enablers.”
#MicroStory

Thank you to everyone who reads and enjoys my small stories. I tweet flash-fiction at irregular intervals on my Twitter account, @patman23. At more regular intervals on Twitter, I’ll be talking about my dogs, or television (mostly Game of Thrones), or raking leaves off of my lawn.

Header image was taken by me, of my dog Willow lit up spookily by some Christmas lights. I don’t care if people use the image for their own fun purposes, but proper credit would be appreciated.

Want to read my earlier MicroStory collections? I have my first three years’ worth of stories HERE

In general, I’m fine with anyone using the text of my MicroStories for non-commercial use. (Look how cute I am, thinking someone wants to make a t-shirt from one of my flash fiction bits. I say cute, but you can substitute in some other, more appropriate, adjective. I’m not the boss of you.)